


a refuge from a sweeping wind, from a tempest.

by aikanaro



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brethil, F/M, Fluff, Shenanigans, The Children of Caranthir and Haleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23328706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aikanaro/pseuds/aikanaro
Summary: For the moment, he allowed himself to exist, here with his family where the world could not find them. He was not a praying man, but if he had been, he would have prayed for this.-In which Caranthir visits Haleth and their children in Brethil, and a goat is the cause of mayhem.For Fëanorian Week Day 4 | Caranthir. Prompt: Marriage.
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë & Original Character(s), Caranthir | Morifinwë/Haleth of the Haladin, Haleth of the Haladin & Original Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 104





	a refuge from a sweeping wind, from a tempest.

**Author's Note:**

> Original Characters:  
> Halion and Halwen are twins, and children of Haleth and Caranthir. Their Quenya father-names are Veryafinwë and Morimíriel, and they are sometimes called Hal and 'Wen, for short.
> 
> A few translations:  
> Atya - literally 'my father', a diminutive name. Sort of like 'dad'.  
> Níþimo - the name of the goat. Literally 'fragrant one'. Yes, they named the goat 'smelly'.   
> fëa(r) - soul(s)/spirit(s)  
> Atto - another cute-name for one's father. Essentially, 'dad'.

Caranthir knew he was nearing Obel Halad. He was so familiar with the road through Brethil that he could have ridden it blind. The great forest thinned ever so slightly as he approached the settlement, the road sloping upward toward the round hill it sat upon. More than that, Caranthir could simply feel that Haleth was near. He could sense the heat of her spirit, close and burning. He urged his horse onward.

He could sense guards in the trees above, but they knew him and did not ask him to stop. In a few more minutes he saw the first homestead. It was a simple wooden dwelling, sturdy and well built if mostly unadorned. As he continued up the road, more similar buildings appeared, well spaced in thin clearings. The Haladin were not, by nature, herders of large livestock nor were they farmers on a significant scale. On each homestead, they grew enough vegetables for the people living therein and small amounts of corn and potatoes. Usually, there were small animals, chickens and a goat or two.

They cultivated the land enough that they might be stationary, however, the Haladin largely hunted game and fished from the great river that ran through Brethil to eat. It was for this reason that homesteads were not oversized. Large fields for crops were unnecessary. Families lived together, each generally centered around a matriarch and all her descendants.

Haleth, being the  _ halad _ of her people, had her homestead at the center of the settlement atop the great hill. Caranthir slowed his horse to a walk as he approached it, ease and relief filling him at the sight.  _ Home _ . Thargelion was a home, too, in its way, but it was perpetually empty and cold compared to this warm mannish dwelling. 

He dismounted his horse and secured it, before turning to walk the rest of the way up the well worn path. Before he managed it, he saw a goat ambling past and briefly wondered if it were meant to be out. He did not wonder long. 

There was a shrill squeal and the rapid patter of small feet and then—his son was running down the road from the house. 

Veryafinwë Halion was eight years old—though Haleth supposed he was nearer five or six by the standards of Men—and at the moment entirely naked. There were soap bubbles clinging to his softly tanned skin and his hair was wet, his black curls plastered to his face.

About halfway between Caranthir and the house he slipped in a muddy part of the path and fell flat on his bottom. Caranthir lurched, thinking he might have hurt himself, but he bounced back up as though nothing had happened. His little boy continued down the road, now covered in mud. Only a moment behind him came his sister.

Morimíriel Halwen had not a stitch more clothing on her than her brother. She ran straight at the exact same place her twin had and, before Caranthir could do anything to warn her, fell and splashed into the same mud with a yelp. 

She jumped back up as Halion had and, at that moment, Caranthir was absolutely certain he had no idea what was going on. His children were as naked as the day they were born, muddy, and running as though orcs pursued them.

Then, Halwen’s little shrill voice rang through the air as she cried something in the Haladin tongue to Halion. Caranthir instantly caught the word for “goat”. 

_Ah._ So the goat was decidedly  _ not _ supposed to be out. This did not explain the nudity.

He turned behind him to where the animal in question was ambling along, unbothered. He moved so he was standing in front of it, and might keep it from wandering further. 

“ _ Níþimo! _ ” Halwen cried, still unaware of her father’s presence. “Come back here! You mustn’t go into Haldan’s garden and eat flowers again!”

Caranthir choked. They had— _ they had named the goat in Quenya _ . He pinched the bridge of his nose. Eru help him. 

“Children,” Caranthir said, voice booming. “What are you doing?” 

Halion and Halwen both turned toward him, and he could see them better. 

Even in such a state as they were, something in his chest tightened. It had been months since he had seen them and even in that short time they were so much bigger. The children of Men grew so quickly. They were taller and had lost even more of the round softness they had had as babes, though not all. 

Caranthir’s presence did not seem to register entirely to his son who frantically explained himself. “We—we were having a bath and Mama had to go do something, and then  _ Níþimo  _ got out of his pen and we got in trouble with Haldan last time he ate his garden and there was no time—” In the middle of speaking, Halion seemed to realize who he was talking to and his eyes, as green as his father’s, grew wide in excitement. 

“ _ Atya _ !” he squealed so loud it made Caranthir’s ears twitch. He could feel his little son’s  _ fëa _ all but vibrating in excitement. “ _ Atya!  _ You’re back!” 

Caranthir knew his children well enough to realize they were about to leap into his arms without heed of the mud and he braced himself. Such an important ritual as this, them climbing him as though he were one of Brethil’s many trees, would not wait. He would not have wanted it to. 

He knelt and opened his arms at the precise moment Halwen and Halion started bounding toward him. They reached him at the same time, crashing into his arms. In one smooth motion, Caranthir scooped his filthy, naked children up into his arms and held them as tightly as he could. 

In a way he could not explain, they fit against him. He was the middle brother of seven and had many more cousins; he had held many elflings in his time, but none had ever felt as this did. He could hold any elfling just fine but it did not have the marrow-deep sensation of  _ belonging _ that these did. They belonged in his arms, like puzzle pieces cut from him, only when he held them did he feel complete. 

He felt their little  _ fëar _ against his own, as fiery as any of his kin and yet different,  _ mortal _ , as Haleth was. The latter was a fact that he decidedly did not think about, because it was terrifying. 

Just then, Haleth herself came striding down towards them. Something shifted in Caranthir at the sight of her familiar face. With his eyes he traced her freckles and the thin lines around her eyes and mouth, her strong cheekbones and slightly crooked nose. Her golden curls were braided back from her face, but a few stray ringlets escaped. She was so beautiful. 

“Hello, Caranthir,” she said. She scowled at him and it made his heart lighten despite himself. “As you can see, your children have made quite a mess.”

“Mama, the goat—,”

“He’s out and—,” 

Haleth sighed. “I understand.” 

As a mother she was as stern as she was in everything else, but her hand was gentle and she was never harsh. Caranthir knew she would likely tell them to call for her next time, but wouldn’t punish them. That was not her way. 

She looked up at Caranthir with sharp eyes that seemed to bore into him. She did not smile and run to him, that would not have been like her, but her lip quirked slightly upward and he thought he could feel her gladness anyway. 

“Go and bathe your children while I see about this goat,” she told him, with little heat behind the order. 

He raised an eyebrow. “I notice they are  _ my _ children today.”

“Naturally. They are always your children when they are doing something foolish.” 

Caranthir snorted. Trust Haleth to say such a thing. 

She strode past him after the offending goat, but as she reached him she paused for just a moment. She placed one small callused hand on his bicep and stayed there briefly, one finger stroking slightly. In that touch seemed everything that needed to be said and he nodded, understanding. 

He was no more a man of sweet words of love than she was a woman of them, but they understood each other. The cavernous holes in his chest did not feel half so hollow when Haleth touched him. 

She let him go, walking past him and down the path. The light she left in her wake lingered. Haleth was no soft maidenly elleth, no gentle creature of the stars, but she blazed like the sun, and everywhere she went the world seemed to  _ warm  _ in her wake. 

Caranthir turned his head slightly and kissed their daughter’s brow. It was her fate to lead these people one day, just as Haleth did. 

He made his way up the path to the house, still carrying his children. He ignored the way Halion squirmed, knowing it was likely because he despised baths. He suspected his son was only refraining from vocal complaint because he knew that he and his sister had already been in quite some mischief already this afternoon. 

Caranthir pushed the sturdy wooden door open and set his children down. 

Keeping an eye on them, he took off his cloak and hung it on a hook in the entryway, one which sat out of line with the others and far higher up the wall because Haleth had noticed that his cloaks, because of how tall he was, still brushed the floor when hung from any of the others. 

It was insignificant, really, but his heart always turned at the sight of this out of place cloak-hook. He could not be here in Brethil too often, it was impossible to escape Thargelion more than once every four or five months, if that. But the one hook far too high on the wall meant that this home was his too. It was made for him to live in and he was welcome here. 

After his cloak came his boots. Caranthir removed them and left them in the entryway, not wishing to dirty the floor. He considered a moment, then removed his shirt as well. It was not dirty, his cloak having borne most of the dirt from his twin children, but it would become wet while he bathed them. 

“Come now,” he said, looking down at them. “Bath time.” 

His children had, at least, waited patiently for him and had not run off to track mud through the whole house, but they now leveled him with matching scowls that did even his house proud. How naked, muddy elflings could manage to look so incensed and offended, he had no idea. 

Halwen was secretly fond of baths and she liked the feel of her hair being cleaned and brushed and so he suspected she only resisted in solidarity with her brother. The twins had forever had a strange habit of pretending to agree on things, even when they did not. Halion was another story. For no apparent reason, he had always  _ despised _ being bathed. When he was smaller he would scream as though he wished to bring the forest down around him when it was time to get clean and Caranthir or Haleth had sometimes simply gotten into the basin with him to console him about the experience. As near as Caranthir could tell, it was simply the sensation of it that he hated. He did not like the water and he disliked being scrubbed and more than anything, did not like his curls being combed through. 

Caranthir sighed. 

“I am sorry,” he said to them. “But we must.” 

Halwen softened. Despite being only an hour older than Halion, she was forever an eldest sibling. 

“C’mon, Hal,” she told him, taking his hand. “It will be quick and then we can have whatever presents  _ Atto _ has brought with him and maybe Mama will let us have a treat.”

Caranthir barely stifled a snort. Of course his daughter knew he would bring presents with him and counted on it. She was right, of course.

Little Hal considered it for a moment and then acquiesced, but the grumpy look did not leave his face. 

In the large center-room was the basin, still full of water from their interrupted earlier bath. Beside it he found a clean shirt and trousers for Halion and a soft green dress for Halwen. On a chair sat some soap and cloth with which to dry them. 

He helped his children back into the water, which was thankfully still mostly warm, and began to bathe them. 

Halion was already grumbling. This was to be expected, but luckily Caranthir was familiar with how to soothe him. 

“Do you want to do it yourself?” Caranthir asked.

Halion nodded. 

Understanding, Caranthir gave him the sponge which he had already lathered with soap for him and let him scrub himself clean. As usual, that seemed to alleviate the stress of the situation some, though it was much less efficient, as he grew distracted playing with the bubbles. 

Caranthir had always made sure they had elvish soaps because he feared what the Haladin lye sort might do to delicate elfling skin. Haleth thought this was utterly absurd, but allowed it. 

While Halion did his best to get clean, he scrubbed Halwen himself and smiled when she would squeal because he had reached a ticklish spot. He scrubbed the dirt from her little feet and legs and off the front of her soft belly. He washed her black hair and behind her ears and tried to keep the soap from her eyes. He could feel her spirit flicker with happiness. She, at least, liked this. 

After she was done, he left her be and scooted to the other side of the basin where Halion was slowly managing to get the dirt from himself. He seemed to have already gotten his hair clean. There was, however, a large patch of dirt still on his belly. 

“You’ve missed this bit, my son,” he told him, pointing. 

Hal looked down at himself and then took the sponge and scrubbed as best he could to get it off. Caranthir was terribly aware that this would go much faster if he did it himself, but it was not worth making Halion miserable over. Caranthir pointed out several more dirty patches and watched as his son cleaned them.

“Better?” Halion asked, finally.

Caranthir nodded. “All better.” 

He checked Hal over one more time and, finding him sufficiently clean, helped him out of the now muddy bathwater along with his sister. 

Caranthir’s children babbled to each other in Quenya as he dried them off. Some rational part of Caranthir knew he should hush them, that he should never have taught them the tongue of his forefathers in the first place and that he should prevent them from speaking it now. That rational part was overwhelmed by the majority of him that knew that there had never been any chance that he would allow his children not to speak their language. Still, it was dangerous. Not only was it banned, if an elf heard them, speaking Amani Quenya with their heavy Fëanorion accent that made the s’s catch at the front of their little mouths, it would not be much of a difficulty to identify who their father was. Caranthir knew they already had his looks. They would be  _ discovered _ . 

This Caranthir feared more than anything. He did not want his children bared to the scorn of Beleriand elves, did not want them bared to the Doom. He did not want people to harm them or to ask invasive questions about just  _ what _ they were. He had never heard of children being born between the Atani and the Eldar before, and his children should not bear the weight of that newness. They were Noldor and they were Haladin, as far as he was concerned. No one had ever asked Nolofinwë if he felt he could truly be a Noldo because his mother was a Vanya, or Findaráto if he could truly be a Teler because his father was a Noldo. It was known they were both. Why should his children be asked to make the choice? 

He sighed internally. Once they were sufficiently dry, he found a wooden comb laid with the other supplies. He turned to Halwen first, knowing she would be easier. He made quick work of her hair, combing through it as gently as he could. Luckily, it had not gotten too tangled. Halion, in a moment of exceptionally good behavior, only kept up a lively conversation with his sister while his hair was combed and did not complain, not even as the comb snagged on a knot. 

Caranthir was just finishing helping them dress when the front door swung open. It was Haleth, looking a little harassed. 

She tossed Caranthir’s pack to him, which had been with his horse. “I put your horse out to pasture.” 

“Thank you,” he said, meaning it. 

She folded her arms in response. “I have never known any goat to be so much trouble in my entire life, by the Mother!”

Haleth sighed and then looked down at her freshly washed and dressed children. “Were you good for your Papa?” she asked. 

“Yes, Mama!” Halwen smiled. “Hal too!”

Halion nodded with the kind of certainty only a little boy can muster. “Yes, Mama,” he said. “Very, very, very, good! So good…… we could have a treat?”

Haleth snorted and Caranthir could not hide his smile. The sap of one particular tree that grew in Brethil was very sweet and the Haladin had learned to harvest it and prepare it so that it could be dried into hard little sweet pieces that were good to eat. Halwen and Halion had delighted in them ever since they had been old enough to eat them without fear of choking. Haleth did not let them have them terribly often, as she worried it would make them sick, but when she did it was always an occasion. 

She pretended to consider a moment, a smile already stretching across her face. “Alright then,” she said finally. 

Halwen and Halion were practically bouncing with excitement. 

“Oh thank you, Mama! Thank you!”

“We will be good all week, we will, we promise!”

Haleth smiled at them. “Go and fetch them from the box in the other room. But be careful! And don’t run!”

Hal and ‘Wen nodded their understanding and, in a flurry of excitement and little feet, rushed off to claim their prize. 

When they were out of sight she looked up at Caranthir with soft eyes. Saying nothing, she walked over to him and leaned in to him, laying her head on his still bare chest. He looked much the same as he had the day she’d met him, all sharp angles and severe features. He was handsome and impossibly tall, with silken black hair that did little to hide his strange ears. His tan skin was smooth and always flushed slightly pink. Haleth breathed in him in. Familiar, quiet, brooding, beloved Caranthir. She had missed him, though she did not say it. She knew that he knew it anyway, he always did. 

Caranthir brought his arms up around her and held her to him tightly. Despite being powerfully built, she was a small woman, and he was large even for a Noldo. Regardless of this difference, when he held her like this, he always felt that he was the one clinging for support, a man drowning in the sea who clung to his only steady hope. The world that surrounded this house was dark and full of horrors. To the north lay Nan Dungortheb, it’s malicious enchantments snaring travelers like flies in a spider’s web. To the east lay Doriath, austere and hostile, devoid of love for the Haladin and the Noldor alike. Beyond both was Angband, and the monstrous smoldering torments within. Such evils swallowed men and elves alike and they seemed to encroach upon everything, slow and insidious. 

But this house, this simple wooden home in the trees of Brethil was free of all that. Here, Haleth was content to rest her head on his chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart. Here, the familiar smell of her, heady and earthy, permeated him. He could hear their little children’s footsteps and whispered conversation as they sought out sweets in the adjoining room. It was Caranthir’s sworn duty to live and die for three shining jewels of his father’s creation, but there were three here he needed no oath to give all for. To die for this home and the three lights within it would be as easy as breathing, not a burden or a task. They did not even need to ask. 

Caranthir knew he could not stay here forever. Soon duty and Thargelion and the oath would call him away again. But for the moment he could forget that, wish it away as he leaned into his wife’s embrace. For the moment, he allowed himself to exist, here with his family where the world could not find them. He was not a praying man, but if he had been, he would have prayed for this. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Eiren (softshark) for her continuous support of my writing.


End file.
